


Ineffable Encounters

by HoneyMayBee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: But only once in thier lives, Canon Compliant, It'll be fine. Hopefully, Many have met Aziraphale and Crowley, Maybe - Freeform, Oh God-Not Second Person, One Shot Collection, Original Character-centric, Other, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Past Tense, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:50:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyMayBee/pseuds/HoneyMayBee
Summary: Since 'The Beginning", many humans had come across one or two extraordinary people. They had stepped into lives briefly but made such an impact, it stuck with them the rest of it.The kindest man could help you find the perfect book.This man didn't seem kind at first, but he got you home safely.This encounter could go well or end in disaster.A collection of one shots where an Angel or a Demon, or both had sauntered vaguely into someone's life and left just the same.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 41





	1. July 17, 1993

**Author's Note:**

> A Nun would only like a nibble.

**Sister Mary Alvin**

** **

You have been a nun for many years and have been raised to go into such practice since you were very small. You loved your sisters and you loved your Lord almighty very much. It was peaceful, and quiet, and simple. You loved it.

You also loved cake.

The convert that you lived in do not allow such sinful delights. This order you are a part of had restrictions on treats. Treats such as sundaes, fudge, biscuits; even warm, drinkable coco. All of these were banned in your order. You remembered having such delicacies as a child. But after going to live permanently with your new family, under your merciful Lord; the priests and pastors had stripe you of any safe access. It stopped you but it did not stop your sisters. You had seen Sister Josella sneak a Snickers to Sister Patricia during pray, what devils. You had nearly let the sin of greed and jealousy take you that day.

Those same sisters, along with others, were inside a bakery picking up an order made by your church. The church wanted an order of cakes and biscuits that were to be served to a visiting representative of another nunnery. A nunnery that you presumed allowed their residents to have cake.

You are not in the shop with your sisters. You are looking in through the window because you are hungry ,and you had skipped breakfast. And temptation did not have to bother with either to work. You did not want to show any sign of weakness in front of your sisters, even if you could see Sister Josella purchase a mouthwatering light-pink, frosted doughnut that had little pearl sprinkles. She snuck the bagged, sinful delight into the folds of her robes and looked out the window to wink at you.

You mouth was watering and you swallow that instead of your pride. Sister Patrica swallowed a truffle of sweet chocolate.

What devils. What brave devils. What brave sisters you wish you could join. To join and eat samples of zest and sample cups of coco. To sneak a sinful delight of your own. To take a bite that you gave up many years ago.

You grip your own folds and suddenly heard a crinkle. You sucked in a silent breath.

Reaching into your pockets, you pull out something that made you gasp again, only more audible. It was cake! Two palm-sized treats that were wrapped in clear cellophane tied closed by a little, tartan bow were resting in your grip. The cakes were a pale yellow with little chocolate lines drizzled all over them. Little white pearls were resting on top. They were little. They were a little blessing. It was a little blessing. You felt a little blessed.

It was perfect.

You heard the bell to the bakery ring above you and you turned to greet what you thought was to be your sisters leaving the shop. Instead it's a tall, lanky man who should not have been wearing so much black in the summer; the sunglasses at least made up for it. He was holding the door open for an older gentleman also not dressed for the summer. He wore two layers ,and a coat, and he was smiling at you. The smile was a bit too wide; as if he was proud he had done something, but felt guilty of doing so.

“It is truly a lovely summer’s day. Wouldn’t you agree?” He said to you.

“Yes. Yes it is.” You replied. The cake clearly could be seen in your hand. You felt fine though. You felt safe if it was this gentleman catching you in an act you are sure you hadn’t performed.

The gentleman’s eyes flicked down to it, the sinful delight, and his smile became smaller. “It’s a lovely day to allow ourselves to treat thyself to a small pleasure?” He had pressed on. The tall, lanky, still holding the door, groaned.

“Speaking from experience,” the man hissed- _He hissed!_-,_"She_ is actually fine with these kinds of things now. Ain't seen nobody show up down there for having a little nibble of pudding.” ____

The gentleman shushed him and walked into the shop. He dragged the hissing man with him. The bell to the bakery rang above as the door closed behind them. You saw them through the window, striking up a conversation with Sister Josella. She pulled her bagged treat from her robes and showed them it. She then pointed out the glass display she had purchased it from and the gentleman smiled that same smile. He then proceeded to purchase one of his own.

What Angels. What brave Angels. What a little blessing.

You open the door to get one of your own too.


	2. June 12, 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lost mother needs to find a plant for her son.

**Li Marshal**

You walk down the third aisle for the third time in the third greenhouse, the last one too, and you are rather a bit distraught. It has been more than an hour and you still haven’t found a plant for your child. 

Your son is at home waiting for his....Oh, what did James name it now?....his '_Practice Pet_'. And again, he has been waiting, hopefully patiently, for an hour now. Two if you count the drive. Three with the drive back actually. Now that you think further on this, it’ll be four total if you spend a while more in this nursery.

But you need the right one, and it was a miracle that James has even agreed to his father’s terms.

***

“_You must care for it before you can have a pet of your own. Water these roots and we grow to actual dog, yes_?”

“_So, like a practice pet_?”

“_Yes. Yes, exactly_.”

***

You push your empty cart along trying to see if there is anything that you haven’t looked at yet. The sign before reading, ‘_Succulents_’. 

You go past a collection of saplings on the floor, a painted, wooden sign stood in front of them depicting a cartoon drawing of a buck-toothed apple eating a miniature version of itself, also smiling with its own set of buck teeth. You find the illustration disturbing. 

James could not raise a tree.

James is only eight. You and your husband knew he wasn’t ready for a dog when he asked for one as a birthday present. Thus, you agreed with your husband about his idea. This could help him. It absolutely could and should. James can come to make up his own schedule and trim the leaves if that’s required. With this, he can learn some responsibility. 

Do plants grow better in clean rooms? A part of you hope that is true. 

You don’t even look again at the ones that look like little monsters, they are trapped on the table, with red maws open to the glass panels above. You don’t want to give your child such a ghastly looking plant. Especially after you saw what it did to that fly. Your son will find it cool, but you find it horrifying. You pass them again like the second time. Once is enough.

James should not being given such...violent ones.

This is the hard part. After getting the plant, nothing could go wrong for your husband’s idea, except if James kills it. James is only eight. He doesn’t know about plants and will be very new to being in caring for one. If the plant dies then he will simply demand for a dog since it would be “_easier_” and less “_boring_”. While your husband was a great help in steering your child away from the idea of getting a dog for his birthday, he wasn’t going to help in caring for a plant. 

You need the right one.

James needs the right one.

You see a beautiful display of potted flowers. The colors ranged from pearly white petals to deep shades of violet. They are gorgeous. They are so pretty and definitely not right for your son.

James would throw a fit and call them “girl plants”. 

You have only one chance to pick the right plant and you really didn’t want to settle on buying a trunkful of them because James is only eight. One plant for one child to practice with to get one dog. Also one that didn’t have teeth. That is important.

You turn your cart around the corner at the end of this aisle and onto the next. On your left, you see a table that is filled with a large amount of little plants.. You pause, the cart giving a little squeak at halt in movement.

You take your time to stare at the arrangement. How cute! They each look the same, the little tags on each pot scribbled with a name you couldn’t understand or pronounce, and all of them are grouped together tightly on the table. there is barely any space between them. They also have a...certain smell. You pick up one from the center of the display, this one did have something about it. You choose to hold it out in front of you, backing up from the table to see the little plant under the light from the window above. 

It seems...taller than the rest? You suppose that is what made it stand out. The leaves look the same, but the steam has a few bends. It reminds you of your husband, someone who should be taller than you, however years of slouching over his desk reading has cursed him with a permanent hunch. It’s Hunching. Hunching is what the plant is doing. 

And it is a good…or bad thing...because...reasons. 

You slowly release a long, drawn out sigh. You should’ve done research before coming here. And that’s the problem. Just like James, who was only 8, you didn’t know a thing about plants either.

You need help. 

You feel a light but surprising smack against your flats and you drop the plant with an embarrassing shrill. Quickly, you bend over to save it, but another hand has already caught it. From your new angle you can see a black, point-tip shoe pressed up against your own left one. You twist your head to stare at the poor thing’s savior, and…

What is a man like this doing in a nursery off the freeway? No one has ever looked so out of place to you. 

Black. He is wearing all black. From the baseball cape on his head to those shoes. His jacket, pants, his shirt, probably his socks, they are all a deep, dark back. He even has on a pair black sunglasses and you can’t tell if he is staring back at you or at the plant. 

The man is bent over at such an awkward angle, his legs remain straight and still as his entire upper body is sideways. Long, red hair in a ponytail falling over the front of his shoulder. His arm is straight out, holding the pot, fingers hooked into the bottom holes to keep it upright. It looks uncomfortable.

“Why’re you performing Hamlet with a thing of mint?” The man asks, and not at all sounding that uncomfortable despite his body’s position.

“Oh? What. I’m sorry-“ You bring yourself upright by using the cart’s handle as leverage, the man following with impossible ease. He’s taller than you; almost twice you height that you need to crane your neck somewhat. 

“The mint.” He repeats, the mentioned now tucked against his chest, his other arm is gently fiddling with its leaves.

“The mint. Mint…. Yes the-. How did you know it was mint?”

The man lets go of the plant and holds it out to her, pointing to the same label you couldn’t understand before.

_ Mentha_

Oh, so he can read them.

“Oh, so you can read them.”

“Courssse I can read them!” The man snaps and you shuffle away, your flats losing any contact it had with the man’s shoe. “The smell too. _Bleugh. _Obviously this is mint.” Despite his clear disgust, he brings the plant back to him, the hand returning to place soft strokes along the leaves.

“Right. I am sorry. I am trying to find a plant and I am having trouble…-”

“This whole place is trouble,” The man cut you off, “They have no idea what they’re doing here. I mean, look at this-“ His hands were still occupied with the plant, so he swings his whole body to wildly gesture with his shoulder, his head swinging along with it, “No space. No room to grow. Storing them all on these ratty tables, there’s a perfectly good floor here, y’know.”

You didn’t know if the floor would be better or not but you could get from his criticizing exclamation that being on these tables is the worst of any given options, You thought of how books are kept on shelves instead of tables, “They could get a shelf. Maybe...um…-“

“_Exactly_!” He exclaims, agreeing with you, hopefully, it looks like it anyway. The glasses make it difficult. The man clearly likes plants and he has definitely convinced himself that the nursery that they were both at hated them and treated them without any care, “They have these flimsy, cardboard, fold-outs molding ‘em all up.” He looks over the mint and lets out a loud, dramatic gasp that you wince, “Look at you. You’re root-bound too as much as the bloody table. Those bastards…”

You can grasp that the man hates them back just as much but not his reasons, “It’s what?”

“It’s doing its damn best and it can’t grow anymore- it hasn’t been growing. It’s been halted and it’s awful, do you understand?”

No.

“Yes.”

The man nods and goes back to fretting over the mint, rapidly whispering little nothings. You hear snippets, the words ‘_safe_’, ‘_warm_’, and ‘_She’s no’ going to hurt you anymore_’. You should be concerned by his actions, however you do not find it as disturbing as the biting plants from before. 

With this, you are coming to a conclusion.

He is a boy. He knows plants. He is definitely older than your eight year old son. 

You need the right one. You need him. 

“My son would do terrible with mint,” You start off, “He already complains about brushing his teeth, I can not imagine him trying to raise toothpaste as well!” You force out what you like to believe was a convincing laugh. 

Even if you require his expertise, you didn’t want to look him in those eyes that you couldn’t even see in the first place. You keep your attention on the table of mint in front of you. One chance to give your son a plant and one chance, it seems, to hook this man into helping you.

You can practically hear the grin begin to grow on the man’s face, “Oh? Oh. _Oh-ho-ho-ho_ ” He somehow, someway is able to cross his arms while keeping the little pot of mint upright, “_Oh_, you say that but he can’t be as feckless with plants as these losers here now?”

A shrug, “I would not know. This would be his first one.” 

“Ah,”

“He would like a dog and can not even keep his room clean.”

“Ah,” The man repeats. 

“So, I have been…trying to find a plant that could work for him. He is only eight and his father suggests that I come out here to...you know…-“

“Adopt him a practice pet, yeah?” He finishes.

Ah. You nod. 

The man uncrosses his arms and presents the mint once again to you, it quivers despite the man holding his hands very, very steady, “Mint is an easy plant. It has a fair watering schedule, great for indoor, get to cut it with a knife now and again so that’s fun.”

It can not be that easy.

This isn’t going to be that easy. You weren’t going to make it that easy for him because you were the one who found the mint, you would have done his job. And with his quick answer, you know he can do his job well. You continue to say nothing.

“Well, I mean,” The man’s smile is still sewn across his face, “Is it the smell? Oh, It’s not that bad, at all, to you. Me? Uh, yeah. It’s awful. This whole table, combined,” He waves his hand in front of his nose, “Disgusting. All of them. Except for you,” He places the potted mint back onto the table, as close to the edge as it can be, to keep it away from the others, “You did nothing wrong. Especially after her.”

You. You’re _her_. You grip the cart a bit tighter.

“You bumped into me?!” You retort, bring a hand up to your chest in mock offense. 

“You were wanderin’ about the store for the past forty minutes gawking at the Cactus Section,” You chose not to correct him on that, “Which, by the way, should even be the name of this section. Apple trees do not belong in the _fucking_ Cactus Section.”

What vulgar word choice. 

“Well, perhaps you can help me in picking out a plant besides that one,” The man had began to reach for the mint to present to you again, you were not going to accept it at all now. You were here for more than an hour and are willing to stay longer to get the best choice. 

“I ain’t going to waste my time traversing around and window-shop with someone who doesn’t even know where she is going.”

“You are right. I am lost. I do not know how…..” You try to say this any other way but you can’t, really you can’t, “...I do not know how plants work.” 

“So you think you were just expecting it to click for you as soon as you came in here?” 

“You seem to be knowledgeable of plants.”

“Because I know them.” He sounds very, very confident. 

The man you can tell he is at least interested in your predicament. He was watching you for some time. His smile is still there. He is still amused by all of this; your son’s ‘Practice Pet’ idea. Or he is amused by a joke. And that joke is you. But nonetheless interested. But how to get him to stay-

“You would know how to help me.”

“Then why not ask the blasted staff working here? They help. Maybe. They could do their damn job for once.

-There it is.

“Yes. But, would it be better to ask help from them when an assumed expert is right here? That is not your job though, is it? As you said.”

You weren't lying. Not really. The staff here did not look at all invested in their job.

The man’s whole face drops and you can see his brows peek out from his shades. His mouth is in a straight line. He shoots out a hand to grab your free one, small specks of the potted mint’s soil is caked on them. It feels rough and flaky against your palm. Your whole body swung with his shake, the cart rattling a little.

“Name’s Crowley.”

Got him.

***

You spend another hour in the store pushing the cart along while Crowley pulls plants from tables and explains them to you. You understand at least half of what he was trying to get across to you, but you nod politely and try to look invested. Your assumption was correct, he knows plants, but you know your son. With each plant Crowley shows off, you are able to find something amiss about it. It didn’t discourage Crowley. He almost seems pleased to you that he is able to go on and on about what the greenhouse has to offer. He probably doesn’t get to speak often about what you assume now is more so his lifestyle than hobby. 

“-But there’s always the Venus Flytrap. Wicked things they are. Your mini human could find them entertaining. Could even like it more than the dog depending how he grows up.”

“What do they do that makes them so entertaining?”

“They eat pests.” He grins. 

The memory from this morning of the little insect being slowly crushed by two, pointy jaws flashes in your mind, “No!” You bring up your hands from your cart, waving them in front of you, as if that can actually push away that disgusting image.

Crowley holds up his own hands in a mocking surrender, “Alright, alright now,” He points at himself, “I appreciate them, protect my whole place they do. Makes sure the others have no excuse.”

You stop the cart and place your hands on your hips, it didn’t make you look or feel bigger at all, “I don’t want it to last past the dog.”

“What? You’re just gonna let whatever I pick die?”

“No, I want…. want one that can die on its own. Temporary.”

“Get flowers then!”

“He will call them girly!”

Crowley looks offended at that last statement you made, “_How does one_-“

“-No! Wait! I am sorry.” No matter what, Crowley is taking his time to help you. You do not want to scare him off, and especially offend him; however anyone could find something like that, especially a boy, at all insulting. 

Crowley breathes in deeply, “You want…..something easy, but still requiring attention and some effort, but also, as you said, ‘_temporary_’.” He gestures little air quotes above his head, “And something that isn’t…’_girly_’.”

“Yes, that will cover all that I need,” You confirm; which is why this shouldn’t be so hard. You didn’t think plants could be this complicated. You would have given your son a dog the second he asked had you known before. The mint is starting to look like the best choice after all. 

Crowley taps a finger against his chin, spinning in a circle, looking about. He releases that breath he took at the surroundings. You are still in the greenhouse you met him in, near the exit. A sign post is above you showing what type of plants the nearby greenhouses outside this one would contain. It lists ‘Tropical Plants’ and ‘Vegetable and Garden’. You and him stare up at it. 

Crowley snaps his fingers and you turn your gaze to him. He is smiling again, “I got it.” 

He takes your hand once more and drags you out of the greenhouse. The cart is left behind.

***

After the two hours of when you were browsing by yourself, an hour with Crowley browsing, and a quick twenty minutes of Crowley tearing apart a shelf display for ‘_The Strong One of the batch_’, as well as tear apart the fragile feelings of an undeserving employee who was in the wrong place at the wrong time for the shelf’s ‘_pisssss poor condition_’, with as much force, you finally stand at the checkout back at the first greenhouse where you began your search holding a pack of seeds. You are waiting for the tired woman at the only register available to complete her current customer’s purchase of dirty bag of mulch.

You are going to be purchasing a few more items besides the actual plant…seeds. You look down at white package, that had a little, cartoon radish with a small, shy smile looking up at you. It’s design was much more bearable to look at than the advertisement for the apples. You are holding them in one hand while the other arm has a plastic bin. The bin contains what else you are getting: A plastic watering pail for watering, a plant mister for watering -Crowley was very firm in his stance with that ‘Yes, there was a difference’-, and two packages of specific soil. It is soil that is specifically for growing plants such as radish. 

‘_Ping-Pong Radish_’, a vegetable. It is genius. Crowley calls it ‘_morbidly satisfying_’. The plant in the end will not go to waste but will be eaten. He looked so proud to tell you that. It’s also a fast growing one, so James does not become impatient. He told you everything. You had thanked Crowley for his help and somehow he looked even more offended than before. Which led to more apologizing until he made you drop that conversation altogether. He is probably a little sick of your company; not that that is wrong, but he has been with you for more than an hour. 

Crowley is standing behind you, also waiting his turn. He too is purchasing something. He picked out a little pot of mint, the same one from before. After a lengthy explanation on how exactly radishes worked and picked out what was basically a plastic tub to you, he had dashed, literally sprinted, back to the third greenhouse to ‘rescue’ the little guy. Despite the glasses blocking his eyes, you can certainly make out the complete relief on his face upon his return that he had managed to get the same one. 

You feel a twinge of guilt. He probably sees this as a small reward for himself, you did push him to help you. Which is why as the cashier waves you to come up you make a decision. 

The woman is looking over the counter and into the bin, looking bored, she is entering numbers on the register to get the total when you ask her, “How much are your mints here?” 

“‘Bout five pounds.” The woman replies.

“Oh. How much exactly though?”

“I just don’t see any on ya, ma’am. This for like, a future purchase or…?”

You discreetly point at Crowley who isn’t really paying attention, whatever amusement he had with you gone, and coursing his fingers throughout the mint’s steams, perhaps untangling them. It is fine. He’s like James. He will be so keen on a task, but only for so long. Again, this is why the radish is perfect. A perfect, temporary ‘pet’ for your eight year old son. 

You need to thank Crowley and this is the right way to do it. 

“Right, okay,” The woman doesn’t care at all and punches in a few more keys, “The total then for everything is twenty-three pounds.”

“Thank you.” You pull your wallet from your coat pocket and pull the correct amount of notes to hand over.

The woman takes the money, you place your wallet back, and then drop the seed packet to your container. You quickly leave toward the exit of the greenhouse with everything as the woman calls up Crowley. You can hear him loudly hurl a string of rants about the establishment. Then he goes silent. You are far enough away, that you can not hear what the woman is telling him in her same, impassive tone, but you know. 

You try not to smile when you hear the mint fall out of his grasp and him dropping down to catch it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She will not say that she did not laugh when he smashed his glasses against the counter and when the cashier saw his face. It wasn't like anyone heard her.


End file.
